


Sparrow's Tribute to the Fics Left Abandoned in Their Google Drive

by legendtripper



Category: Detroit Evolution (2020), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: As New Fandoms and Stories are Added so too Will the Tags Be, Case Fic, Detroit Evolution Artfest (Detroit: Become Human), Fic Dump, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Touch-Starved, this is a fucking mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendtripper/pseuds/legendtripper
Summary: Hello all, thank you for being here! What this is is... a mess, for the most part, but it's actually a compilation of excerpts of my half-finished fics! Whether they were lost due to jumping hyperfixations or school sucking the soul out of me, these fics were abandoned for some reason or another. They span multiple fandoms, tropes, lengths, and moods, and are only slightly edited. All of them will be trimmed more than what actually exists, because I want to give it a somewhat appropriate end point.Tags and fandoms will be added with each new posting! Hope y'all enjoy the ride.Oh, and please feel free to yell at me in the comments if you want any more of them. I'm very susceptible to peer pressure.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Sparrow's Tribute to the Fics Left Abandoned in Their Google Drive

**Author's Note:**

> For this first chapter, we have about 2k of my unfinished work for DE Artfest day 31, Touch-Starved. This one was very nearly complete but then I had to go back to school and so it sits just shy of the finish line. Much more of this one is in my drive than what's posted, in case you want a second installment.
> 
> Fic notes: Yes, Nines is dressed like Seth. Yes, this was written before Seven Deadly Synths was released. I'm actually really proud of this one and I'm quite sad it hasn't seen the light of day until now.

Gavin takes one look at what is perhaps the seediest nightclub in Detroit, decked out in neon pink and blue lighting, blasting what is perhaps the least cohesive synth remix of what could only be loosely considered an early 2000s pop hit and says, “Fuck this, I’m going home.”

“Not just yet,” Nines says, grabbing his arm to make sure he doesn’t run off before they even have a chance to scope out their target, though Nines is certainly inclined to agree with his distaste. If it weren’t for their less than enviable circumstances, the _NV Club_ is the last place in Detroit Nines would ever think to go. From its tacky decor to the rather disreputable clientele, the whole place reeks of lowbrow criminal dealings of the kind Nines would really rather not busy himself with.

However, unfortunately enough for Nines’s sensitive auditory processors, there’s no avoiding this. Their latest case, a frankly infuriating spate of counterfeit digital funds cropping up all over the city, has sent them on a wild goose chase for weeks, and this place is the first decent lead they’ve found in weeks. Multiple accounts traced back to this club is a decent start. The only problem is…

“I can’t fuckin’ believe Fowler’s making us go undercover,” Gavin scowls, pulling at the rips in his jeans. “Couldn’t we just stake the place out? I feel like I’m in high school again, and that is _never_ a good thing.”

Nines rolls his eyes at Gavin’s antics, even if he does have to concede that the both of them look nothing short of ridiculous. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Gavin shudders, shaking his head in disgust. “If I even breathe in a Jello shot I will die.”

“Really? I expected better from Detroit’s finest,” Nines says airily, approaching the club. “It will be fine, I assure you. We just need to find out who’s running this.”

“Uh-huh. Simple. Right.” Crossing his arms, Gavin nudges Nines with his shoulder and strides up to the building. “You coming or not?”

“I don’t understand you,” Nines murmurs disparagingly.

“Welcome to the party,” Gavin laughs, clapping Nines across the back.

The line to get inside is woefully long, but unsurprising for the time of night and apparent—if quite incomprehensible—popularity of the establishment. Gavin and Nines are careful to keep their distance, meaning Gavin plunges into the searingly bright pink interior several minutes before Nines, which is perfectly fine by him.

Nothing could’ve prepared Nines for this. However awful the _NV Club_ appeared from the outside, the atmosphere, once indoors, is simply too _much_. Too bright, too cacophonous, too busy, with fluorescent lights that cast the room in shades of pink and purple and blue, all at once vivid and dark. There are so many people milling about Nines quickly attempts a head count, though he gives up the moment he realizes fire safety codes are the least of his problems.

The bar. Ought to be quieter there. Most people are out on the dance floor, shimmying awkwardly yet rather enthusiastically to the so-called _music_ , rallied by a tall, thin man in a jean jacket and wire-rimmed glasses standing on a raised platform that barely qualifies as a stage. Nines frowns, pushing his way through the crowd of party-goers to collect himself, having already lost Gavin to the crowds.

There’s only one person actively tending the bar, and Nines pities them as he slides into the first available empty seat. He wonders if there’s someone to help them manage the hungry maws of the club attendees.

Intrigued, Nines surveys the crowd of dancers, trying to locate Gavin among the mess, but the noise is just too overpowering, and a low whine is building in his ears, and—

“What’ll you have?” the bartender says, abruptly yanking Nines out of his reverie. As he blinks a few times to clear his head, the ringing fades, but doesn’t disappear entirely.

“Oh, um…” Nines skims the list; most of the drinks are brightly colored concoctions geared at the club’s human clientele, but a small section is devoted to specialty Thirium cocktails, a few of which pique his curiosity. But in the interests of the investigation, Nines declines anything too fancy, instead accepting one shot and downing it without ceremony.

When did it get so _loud_? The musician on stage has since moved on to an even more grating number with far too many shrill tones for Nines’s liking. If androids were capable of getting headaches, he thinks he would have one.

_Where is Gavin?_ Consciously, Nines knows they need to stay separated. It wouldn’t do for the both of them to be seen together, not with their reputations in the criminal underworld. But despite this knowledge, Nines wishes he could cling to Gavin in this place, if only to have one point of stability in the roaring sea of the crowds.

His processors are struggling to keep up with the flow of information, from the individual biological signatures of the people around him to the colors of the lights to the many layers of the track filtering through his auditory systems. Bits and pieces of conversations vie for his attention, snippets of relevant information, but there’s simply too great a volume to process at once.

Nines focuses on the grain of the bartop.

As the evening progresses, Nines is able to catalog a great deal of evidence, but none of it thus far is anything _concrete_. He doesn’t stray from the bar, only ordering Thirium shots occasionally and retreating from the speakers. He makes nice with the bartender— _Austin_ , their name is—to the point of convincing them to turn down the music in the speakers closest to him, fabricating some lie about coming with a friend and wanting to keep an eye on them, and the subtle decrease in volume is a much-needed blessing.

However, worryingly enough, Nines still feels _off_ , somehow. The whine in his ears is gone, for the most part, but his mind is foggy and slow. At first, he’s tempted to blame it on the Thirium, but he’s had far too little to warrant such side effects. The world around him is blurring, ever so slightly. And when did his HUD start flashing error messages in the corner of his vision?

Nines staggers to his feet, just barely remembering to pay his tab over the network as he stumbles off to just _find Gavin_.

“Gavin?” he calls out, clumsily pushing his way toward the exit. Around him, other club patrons part, leaving him a path. The floor seems to shift ominously under his feet. Turning his head, Nines catches a glimpse of his reflection in a decorative mirror; he looks positively out of it, LED spinning a vicious red.

“Gavin, whe—”

A bolt of electricity arcs out over Nines’s body, starting at the base of his neck and traveling quickly to the tips of his fingers. Nines collapses to the floor, limbs twitching slightly, straining to keep his eyes open. He can hear someone shouting, and he thinks it’s Gavin, but everything sounds like his head’s been rather rudely shoved underwater. Out of the corner of his eye, Nines can barely make out a figure ducking through the crowds towards him but carefully hanging back, not daring to step any closer.

“Gavin…” Nines trails off as the darkness pulls him under.

It’s quiet, wherever Nines is.

No, not quite, a soft, rhythmic beeping permeates the relative silence, offset by the gentle sounds of someone breathing, the slow, deep inhalations of sleep. Either way, the peace of the space is infinitely preferable to the oppressive noise of the club, the flood of information quickly saturating Nines’s sensors. However, despite the improvement in his surroundings, a dull throb of pain lances through Nines’s head, akin to what he thinks a human migraine would be like. It’s remarkably unpleasant.

Nines opens his eyes.

The first thing that greets his sensitive optical units is an expanse of bright white acoustic tile completely lacking any stains. Turning his head slightly, Nines can make out a bank of electrical equipment, sprouting wires from every direction, many of which appear to be plugged into him, though Nines can’t quite feel them. The whole room is dimly lit in varying shades of blue, the telltale mark of a CyberLife examination room. A simple cotton sheet is pulled over his torso to cover his body, skin pulled back to expose the chassis beneath. Nines absentmindedly runs a hand across the mattress, skimming the readouts on the machines. Though everything appears to be perfectly within the normal parameters, something still feels… _wrong_ , somehow, though Nines can’t quite put his finger one what.

Slowly allowing his skin to reactivate, Nines looks in the other direction to identify the source of the breathing.

It’s Gavin, still wearing his absurd club outfit, with the addition of his signature jacket. The hood is pulled up over his eyes and his hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, his legs pulled up in the fetal position on what looks like a rather uncomfortable plastic chair. He snores softly, breaths providing the only source of life in the room.

Nines groans, letting his head loll back onto his pillow. “I must confess I feel as though a railroad spike has been driven through my forehead.”

“Wha—” Gavin bolts upright, nearly falling out of his chair. “What’s happening?” He blinks several times, groggily pushing the hood off his head and ruffling his sleep-tousled hair. “Nines?”

Rolling his eyes, Nines murmurs, “In the synthskin.”

“Sure.” Gavin hauls himself upright, rubbing at his eyes with his hands. “You’re a real piece of work.”

“It’s one of my many charms,” Nines says wryly. “Where am I?’

“Belle Isle.” Gavin stifles a yawn. “24-hour android clinic.”

“I’m familiar.”

“Yeah, I figured.” It’s odd, Nines notices, Gavin seems to be deliberately avoiding eye contact. There’s a thick tension in the air, the source of which Nines is unable to pinpoint.

“How, uh—” Gavin shifts in his seat. “How you feelin’? You went down pretty hard, there.”

Nines squints up at him. “I don’t recall. Though I suppose I feel fine, considering.”

“Oh.” Gavin nods. “Good. That’s… that’s good.” It feels as though he wants to say more—he keeps shooting Nines concerned looks he probably thinks Nines won’t notice—but he stubbornly keeps his mouth shut. The whole situation is wrong, somehow, though in his post-unconsciousness state, Nines can barely process it enough to parse out the source of his discomfort, the blanks in his memory eating away at him.

“Least you woke up, I guess,” Gavin says eventually, idly pulling at his fingers, hands knotted in his lap.

“What do you mean _woke up_?” Nines’s eyes narrow. “What happened? How long have I been asleep?”

“You don’t remember?”

Nines shakes his head.

“Heh. Wow.” Gavin lets out a long breath. “Jeez, um. Well, you, uh— you passed out. At the club. And you’ve been here about a day? I think?” 

“ _What_?” Nines bolts upright, levering his torso upright by the edge of his hospital bed. Almost immediately, a wave of simulated nausea rolls over him and he grasps at his head, the shrill frequencies returning with a vengeance. Without hesitation, Gavin rushes forward, shoving Nines back to the mattress, clutching his shoulder.

“Hey, now,” he says, “can’t have you busting your ass this early.” A grim smile flickers across his face, letting his hand trail down Nines’s arm to his wrist.

The realization hits Nines like a bullet train to the chest. Why everything feels so wrong.

Nines can’t feel Gavin’s hands. Can’t feel _anything_ touching his skin, from the bed sheets to the mattress to Gavin’s gentle grip on his hand. He swallows, an entirely unconscious gesture entirely superfluous to his being, frantically wracking his files for a scan, a diagnostic, a memory that might give him some clue as to why he can no longer sense, can no longer catalog anything through his synthskin. He opens his mouth, to do what he doesn’t know, but then Gavin says, oh so softly, “At least you’re back among the living, right?” And Nines can’t bring himself to trouble Gavin with something so minor.

He musters up an unconvincing half-smile, hoping it’ll pass. “Of course.”

“That’s my Terminator.” Nines is horrifically aware of how numb his arm is as Gavin gives it a playful swat. “Now let’s get a doctor in here.”

Gavin leaves the room to fetch a technician before Nines can say a word.

The doctor on staff gives Nines a clean bill of health, relieving Gavin but shocking Nines, still reeling over the lack of input from his touch sensors. As Gavin leaves to check Nines out, Nines pulls the doctor aside.

“I don’t mean to doubt your expertise,” Nines says hesitantly, “but since awakening, I haven’t… I haven’t been able to _touch_ anything.”

The doctor, a young woman just recently promoted by the name of Dr. Hopkins, cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Nines purses his lips. “I mean that the sensors built into my synthskin—the ones that allow me to interact with the world as a human might, the ones that allow me to catalog information by touch—seem to have been compromised. I suppose you might compare it to a limb falling asleep.”

“Really? That...” Dr. Hopkins consults her notes. “That shouldn’t be possible, all of your components are in adequate working order.”

“I understand that, but that doesn’t change that I can no longer feel anything.”

Dr. Hopkins shrugs apologetically. “I don’t know what to tell you. Your scans all came back normal. I mean, I can make a couple calls, see if I can get some experts lined up for a more thorough exam?”

“Yes.” Nines looks down for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Yes, I would like that.”

“It could take awhile, Mr. Kamski is usually… uninterested in these sorts of affairs.”

“I understand.”

“I’m really sorry, RK900, I wish I knew how to help.”

Nines grimaces. It’s not that his title is necessarily factually incorrect, but the use of it often rubs him the wrong way. “It’s alright, Doctor,” he eventually acquiesces. “I’ll manage.” He smiles half-heartedly, unsure of who he’s trying to convince.

Gavin turns to greet him as he enters the waiting room, all traces of exhaustion nothing but a distant echo.

“Hey, Tin Can,” he says. “Ready to get back to work?”

“I suppose.”

“Eh, fair enough. Now let’s get you home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger! It just seemed like an appropriate ending point. I hope you all enjoyed that little blast from the past!
> 
> As usual, follow me on [Tumblr](https://legendtripper.tumblr.com/) (@legendtripper) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/legendtripperb) (@legendtripperb)!
> 
> Leave a comment if you're feeling generous! I'm use them as energy drinks to stay awake during finals week.
> 
> Be sure to check out Octopunk Media's [Detroit: Evolution](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apUn-YMMdZ8) on YouTube, as well as its lovely director (Michelle Iannantuono) and cast (Maximilian Koger, Chris Trindade, Jillian Geurts, Carla Kim, JJ Goller, and Michael Smallwood) wherever they can be found!
> 
> And here is your not-so-friendly reminder that this is a work of fiction and to kindly refrain from shipping Maximilian and Chris. I'll spike all your Jello shots.
> 
> Have a lovely timezone!


End file.
